


Opportunities

by shirogiku



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Max Storyline, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humour, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Fix-It, Flint Is A Terrifying Nerd, French Novels, Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirogiku/pseuds/shirogiku
Summary: ‘I see an opportunity, I take it,’ were dangerous, seductive words.
(A weird early S1 brainchild in which Max talks to Flint, and all the ensuing serious business is just an excuse to get them talking about a French novel.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Two fun facts about this story! 
> 
> (Yes, yes, don't we all love long and rambling author's notes.)
> 
> \-- I started it on August 24, then I was hit by RL;
> 
> \-- The thing that convinced me to go back to it and post it is the three-month anniversary; it's nice still being alive and less nice leaving things unfinished, so here we go :)

* * *

‘I see an opportunity, I take it _,_ ’ were dangerous, seductive words. They were like those false little green apples that one could find lying on the beach, which tasted deceptively sweet and juicy, but burnt your mouth at the first bite and closed your throat until you could neither swallow nor breathe. A single fruit could kill twenty men, a squirt of its juice in the eyes could mean a complete and permanent loss of sight, and even a stray droplet of rain or dew from the tree would raise an ugly blister in an instant.

Max knew enough about opportunities to know a terrible, terrible idea for what it was when it crossed her path, but did that stop her? No.

“Captain Flint?” she called out, having caught sight of him further down the street. “A word with you if I may?”

 _Be confident_ , she willed herself in a voice echoing Eleanor’s. _Stay calm._ Careful, careful, urged her own instincts. She must not let her gaze drop. She must speak boldly, without letting her fear show, or he would either dismiss her before she could learn anything useful from him, or he would pull on the loose thread until her entire façade unravelled stitch by stitch. She had seen him do it, and it was never pretty.

Flint stared at her blankly, as if unable to place her outside of the usual context. He himself could rarely, if ever, be caught ashore alone, unaccompanied by Mr. Gates, his eternal chaperone. The pair of them together would be too much for her to manage, but a tête-à-tête might prove to be worth it. He couldn’t _not_ have discovered that the page was missing by now, but did he realise that it had been stolen, and by a member of his own crew no less? Whom would he suspect before his attention turned to his new cook?

“Did some stupid fuck make a mess again?” the captain finally asked, impatient to go about his business. “Or did Eleanor send you?”

Eleanor. He had made the connection. So he would think twice about laying a hand on Eleanor’s favourite. “Max comes bringing you news, but it is not something to be discussed on the streets.” Nassau’s version of the Hydra myth was: cut off one ear, two more shall spring out in its place.

Flint cursed under his breath, already turning on his heel, moving so fast that Max could barely keep up with him.

“ _Non_ , not the tavern either!”

“The fuck are you playing at?” And so, Max had earned herself a personal share in Captain Flint’s stormy mood.

“Eleanor has invested much in you and your men,” she said in what she hoped was a firm tone. “And at certain times, her interests must be protected without it ever appearing necessary.” He did not seem the slightest bit appeased. “Which is why Max must speak to you privately.”

“If it _is_ about the men, let Mr. Gates deal with it,” was Flint’s tense reply. “Go and find him yourself.”

Fully expecting the next thing to come out of his mouth to be a fuck-off, she took another gamble:

“What business could possibly be more urgent than a direct threat to your captaincy?”

In her mind’s eye, she could already glimpse the blade of his knife - the murderous intent was unmistakable as he grabbed her by the elbow and steered her between the houses. Her blood ran cold with the acute awareness that one wrong word or gesture was all that was separating her from death.

“ _Talk_ ,” Flint ordered, releasing her arm, “and make it quick.”

She covered her elbow with her hand, wondering if the skin would bruise from a purely practical standpoint. It wouldn’t do for her to wear bruises. “There is a man on your ship who wishes to depose you, _n'est-ce pas_?” She spoke on rapidly: “But what you may not know is this man has strong allies from another crew. They would steal your ship _and_ your next prize right from under you. A Spanish prize?” There had been some Spanish on the page.

“Vane,” Flint spat, his anger turning to a rage that was, thankfully, not directed at Max. But then he reined himself in at the last moment: “That is not an accusation to throw around lightly.”

She smiled. “One of Vane is enough. I wouldn’t dream of accusing anyone else of being him.”

Not even a twitch? “What proof do you have?” Flint went on.

 _Proof_? What next, a magistrate? “None that would carry weight, but rest assured, this information is offered to you in good faith. Do what you will with it, and good luck.”

“Spanish?” The question stopped her short in her tracks. “Is that all you’ve heard?”

She held his inquisitive stare while he circled her, too frozen to look away now. “ _Oui_.” She paused. “Not exactly.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “I have also heard that the prize is so big it would make you the richest captain in Nassau again.”

He snorted. “What do _you_ think?” She blinked, taken aback. “If you are clever enough to _overhear_ such interesting things, then you must have already formed an opinion of them. Could a single prize truly make or break a career?”

“I have not been here long,” compared to him, anyway, “but isn’t that how _all_ pirate fortunes are made?”

He shook his head. “Not in these waters.”

“So the prize is _not_ as rich as they say?” she asked carelessly.

Flint almost looked pleased for a moment, which was not a good sign at all. “Could it be that your self-imposed mission is not as selfless as you would have me believe?”

She bit back her first response. “Max was merely curious.”

“If you _are_ lying about Vane-”

“Why would Max be lying?” she interrupted, not wishing to hear the rest of it. “I have nothing to gain from making up stories. But please, _please_ , you must promise me not to tell Eleanor, or she will be so angry at me! She cannot stand it when people meddle in her affairs!”

“Neither can I.” Flint’s mouth curled under the moustache, his expression rendered more sinister by it and by the shadows pooling around the two of them. “Which begs the question, what good _is_ your good faith?”

Max did not have a reply at the ready. “I have said everything I had to say.”

“Go,” he repeated, “before someone assumes a transaction of a more obvious nature has taken place here.”

“ _That would be a terrible blow to your reputation as a bloodthirsty monk indeed_ ,” she mouthed in French. She should have charged him the standard fee just for the scare!

“ _I have understood you_.”

Max swore inwardly but walked on, her unhurried pace taking more nerve than she had known she possessed. But who would ever suspect a mere whore of a scheme half so elaborate?

Idelle would be appalled and horrified by the whole thing, but what Idelle didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

Silver looked at Max as if she had gone mad.

“You are the one planning to sneak into his cabin,” she pointed out.

“When _he_ isn’t there! And for what? Hasn’t he just said to you the prize can’t be all that big?”

Oh, no, Flint’s evasiveness on the matter was the best argument in favour of carrying on with their scheme that they could have possibly obtained on such a short notice.

* * *

In this heat, afternoon was as good as nighttime, though John didn’t go back aboard in broad daylight without a protest. While Flint - and by extension, his Quartermaster - were too busy with the lead Max had given him, the thief finally managed to puzzle out what it was that he had taken. Max, for her part, warned Jack Rackham that Flint was hot on his trail, counting on Jack’s gratitude _and_ hurry to swing the negotiations in her favour.

What she _hadn’t_ been counting on was Flint losing his temper so quickly or in front of everyone in the tavern. He had run Singleton through on the spot, before the man could so much as draw a weapon.

‘I’m out of here!’, screamed the panicked look on Silver’s face, and that cowardly grimace was all the warning Max got before her accomplice bolted. _With_ their page!

A curious fact: far from trying to justify his actions, Captain Flint could next be found in the brothel, rampaging across Max’s room. Mr. Noonan wasn’t going to be happy about this, but that was the least of her problems right now.

“ _You_ have it!” Flint snarled at her. “Where the fuck is it?”

“Stay here and threaten me if you will,” she replied, backing into the doorway, “but it won’t bring you any closer to what you’re looking for! I never had it, but I can tell you who does.”

He blocked her retreat with a swiftness that seemed inhuman. “Who?”

She could tell him, but: “ _That_ piece of information is not for free.” It did not have to be a _complete_ failure!

All along, she had been dreading that Flint would kill her. Strangle her, snap her neck like a dry twig, gut her like a pig and leave her bleeding out on the floor for Idelle and the others to find.

But that was not how he chose to play it.

* * *

Sitting in Eleanor’s office with four pairs of eyes watching her every movement, Max would almost prefer her own gruesome imaginings. To think that she had been mistaken for somebody who would willingly ally herself with _Singleton_ , of all people!

She broke her silent pleading with Eleanor, slipping into her native tongue in her agitation as she said: “ _I will speak to_ you. _Alone._ ”

Her lover could not or would not see just how frightened she was - Eleanor could only see her own embarrassment. “First you try and screw me over, _badly_ , and now you’re asking for a friendly chat? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“That is not what is happening here.” It was like talking to a stranger, this side of Eleanor. “Won’t you hear me out before passing your judgement? Or do you truly hold me in so little regard?”

Eleanor was never supposed to find out - _of course_ she was furious. If only she would let Max explain...

Flint glared at Max. “One of my men dead, and the rest near-mutinous. If the page is lost, none of it - your excuses, your delusions, your petty scheming - will make a lick of difference.”

“The page is not lost _yet_.” She glared back at him. “I may have inadvertently forced your hand, but he was a dead man walking the moment he decided to move against you.”

Didn’t the same apply to her, though? What a chilling thought.

“I hate to say it, but the girl isn’t wrong on that account,” said Mr. Gates. “Now, now, don’t look at me like that, especially you, young lady. You’ve still a lot to answer for.”

It made Max sick in the stomach, listening to the threats that were spoken and adding those that remained unsaid (increasingly fewer), but much more than any of it, Eleanor taking Flint’s side so readily. Mr. Scott was following Eleanor and Flint’s fight like someone who had indeed told Eleanor so countless times.

“ _Out_ ,” Eleanor ordered. “ _Everyone_. Except you.” She jerked her head at Flint, who proceeded to lean against the door. “Let’s try this again, without the bullshit. Max?”

“Two shares of the prize,” Max forced out. “Secured in writing.”

The temperature in the room must have dropped a few degrees, to say nothing of all the explosive swearing. Max squirmed, but did not recant.

“You’ve fucking lost your mind,” Eleanor breathed out. “Have you _any_ idea what you’re doing? The shit you’ve started?”

If one of Max could threaten the entire operation, was the operation really worth it? Flint was without a penny to his name - he couldn’t buy his own page back even if he had wanted to! Max and Eleanor, they could be free of this place!

Eleanor poured herself a full tankard of gin, ignoring her.

“Your crew is unhappy with you,” Max said, turning to Flint. “But crews have short memories. They will be happy again when you give them what they want, or what you want them to think they want. Two shares is a small price to pay, all things considered.”

Eleanor coughed under Flint’s stare.

“She did save you the trip to my father’s,” Eleanor’s tone was arch, but Max couldn’t help feeling a glimmer of hope. “I still can’t fucking believe you’ve almost gone to him behind my back. You two are making _Charles_ look like the reasonable one!” She walked over to Max’s chair. “Last chance, Max. Be smart. Give it up, and no one else will have to know.”

“What does it even mean to you? More profit? More satisfaction of betting on the right man?” Max wished she could, her eyes prickling with tears she wouldn’t shed. “ _You_ are free to give this up, to walk away from it all any time you choose! And yet you don’t! _You_ have never been bought and sold.” There was a shuffling noise at the door, but nobody knocked or came in. “I would go away with you in a heartbeat, but you won’t even let me secure my own freedom.”

“ _That’s_ what this is about?” Eleanor asked in disbelief. “I thought you were happy here!”

“That page means _everything_ ,” Flint cut in in a quiet, persuasive voice. “Eleanor’s future, my future, your future, Nassau’s future. A share in it means a share in something far greater than your dreams. Something that cannot be counted in gold.”

Max leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. “Max is listening.”

* * *

Within the space of an hour, two feared figures were facing each other in an ever-growing ring of spectators, keeping the whole town paralysed.

“The _only_ two captains with some balls around here about to fuck each other up,” Eleanor commented. “I hope you’re happy now.”

“Does Max look happy to you?”

“Bets!” someone cried. “Final bets!”

Idelle placed her bet on Charles Vane, glancing at Max as if to invite her to do the same. Mr. Gates was trying to bet on a miracle, claiming that he could see it with his third eye. No wonder their crew was penniless.

“Is this how pirate duels usually go?” Silver chimed in. “Do they always stare each other to death instead first?”

How are _you_ still alive, Max had to wonder.

As if reading her mind, he went on, “Me, I was led astray by a beautiful woman, so I can’t be held responsible for anything.”

“Don’t believe him, Mr. Gates, it was all his idea.”

If anything, Max and Silver were being watched even more closely than the combatants, and it was hard to say whose victory could potentially save them. She had never had much interest in physical fighting, disliking all violence. But this was her life on the line.

“Uh-oh,” Silver whispered in Max’s ear, “he really shouldn’t have done that.”

Flint shouldn’t have allowed Vane to choose the weapons: Flint’s cutlass was knocked out of his grasp, and the audience followed its flight with baited breath. The weapon landed on the sand, too far out of Flint’s reach. Eleanor was clenching her fists, her knuckles white and her face tight with fury.

“May I borrow this?” Max overheard Silver ask a bystander.

Next, Flint was on his back, but Vane’s blade hadn’t gone through him yet.

“Captains!” Silver appealed, moving into the ring. “The first blood has been shed! Isn’t that enough? If we all keep at one another’s throats, who is going to go after the treasure? Just picture it sitting in its chest, pardon me, _chests_ , all shiny, but clearly it’s a two-man job!” Said an idiot who had been a pirate for a couple of days. “And the what’s-it-called escort isn’t going to sink itself.”

“What did you say?” Vane looked more confused than anybody by all the non-corpses around him.

Silver started repeating the entire thing, but Flint cut him short, snatching his borrowed cutlass and spitting out that the whole _point_ of the enterprise was the _lack_ of an escort, so Vane became convinced that Flint was planning to steal a shiny new man-o’-war from him also.

“So who won?” Idelle wondered, wanting her money back.

Didn’t they all. “Eleanor,” now that they had broken out arguing again. “She always does.”

“I have _no_ idea how I’d pulled that off,” Silver boasted later, drinking rum straight from the bottle. “I was sure I was sliced meat, especially when Flint stalked up to me!”

Max took the rum from him and poured a little into her tea. “Only then?”

They exchanged looks, Silver hogging the bottle again. “Here’s to making it through the day, and next time you go through a customer’s pockets, be careful what you wish for, eh?”

“There won’t be another customer.”

She thought back to Mr. Noonan storming up the tavern stairs. Eleanor’s only question to him had been: ‘How much?’ To Max, she had added that it would be deducted from her share. And: ‘Save it. I can’t fucking look at you right now.’

 _‘I never betrayed you!_ ’ Max had insisted. ‘ _I could have simply sold the page and left on my own!’_

‘And that goes to your credit now, does it? Why didn’t you, then?’

Silver cleared his throat.

Max had always imagined that when she left, never to turn back, she would do so holding her lover’s hand. She was free now, true, but freedom was nothing without any real security. _If_ the joint treasure hunt could work out at all.

“Well, I should be going. Lots of work to do.” Silver was always on the verge of taking off - it was his main personality trait, together with stirring up trouble. “Cooking skills to acquire before they eat me alive.”

“Flint will eat you alive anyway, _mon cher_ ,” she said after him. “And his witch will boil you in her cauldron.”

“Wait a moment, what witch?”

Max vengefully did not tell him. It was just a rumour, anyway.

* * *

What are you going to do now? Idelle had asked her.

She had started with searching for a room to rent, which went about as well as she had expected. In all fairness, this _was_ partly her own fault, but she was in no mood to be fair to anybody that night. It felt like the whole of Nassau was still watching her.

Her wind was knocked out of her as she was shoved into the wall. “You fucking cunt,” Anne Bonny hissed at her, Anne’s knife at her throat.

Get in line, Max thought bitterly, except it _was_ Anne’s turn, wasn’t it? With nobody defending Max anymore. “You and Jack are alive and well, and Jack will no doubt think of a way to trick Flint. _You_ have nothing to complain about.”

That threw Anne off. “What’re you sayin’?”

“Anne.” The knife split Max’s skin, drawing blood. “Today, Max has gained something called freedom.” From the brothel. From loving Eleanor blindly, too, maybe. Not from the pirates, their gold and their squabbles, though. “But does Max really look like a winner to you?”

“This ain’t over.” At the sound of footsteps, Anne stepped back, melting back into the shadows.

“After everything has been said and done, there is just one thing I don’t understand.” It was Mr. Gates, with his third eye. “Are you one of the reckless folk, or is it just that the game is rigged?”

“Max is not reckless.”

Mr. Gates picked up a book that had dropped out of her bag when Anne attacked. “These, do you read ‘em?”

She pursed her lips. “They’re not for sale.” Not yet, at least.

To her surprise, he smiled at her, not unkindly, as he put the book back into the bag before handing the bag back to her. “If you’re done looking for trouble out here, go back inside and have a good read.”

It seemed like a completely nonsensical advice until it drew in the least likely suspect.

“ _Clélie,_ ” Flint said, looming over Max ominously. “An interesting choice.” He seated himself across the table from her as if resuming an old conversation, and the surreal quality of it was not lost on her. “Have you read all of it?”

“No, only the first two volumes.”

“What is your favourite scene?”

“I have always been partial to _amour confessions_.” The absurdity of it struck her anew: “Forgive me, I am having trouble picturing you reading French novels.”

“May I?” She nodded, and he opened the book at _Carte de tendre_ , ‘the map of the country of tenderness’. Sentimental cartography was popular in France, or at least, it used to be in Madame de Scudéry’s era. “This morning, I would have had trouble picturing you outwitting us all. Our expectations may be in need of adjustment.”

The map of the country of tenderness represented the landscape of human emotion, divided by the ‘River of Inclination’ and with little hamlets, deserts, and mountains like ‘Sincerity’, ‘Assiduity’, and ‘Respect’.

“Passion’s depiction is the most accurate,” Max commented, to break the eerie silence.

It was a dangerous-looking rocky outcrop, beyond which lay the unknown.

“Indifference as a mere lake, though? It should be an ocean.”

“And Affection, why is it a mountain?”

“That, I can explain,” he told her calmly, almost cheerfully. “Affection is ever the result of surmounting one’s internal resistance.”

“Ah, but resistance to what?”

“To the notion that a person, with all his promises and flaw, could turn your life upside down, and you will briefly be happy about it. But such happiness can only be transient.”

Flint paused, his face doing a strange thing, so Max pretended not to have heard his slip of the tongue. If Eleanor could have been so unravelled by a book, perhaps she and Max would have understood each other better.

With an ironic look, Flint closed the novel, having reached a decision of some sort. “There is someone I should like you to meet. If you are free tonight.”

She was.


End file.
